Cydniey Buffers (cydniey) wrote,
Cydniey Buffers

Dear Diary, I Took the Advice

Dear Diary,

I took the most frequent advice I received: I walked away. Calmly, I went out to the studio and made myself a bracelet. When I came back in, he was crying. It broke my fucking heart. But it was better than the rage, more productive, no guilt after. It’s got to be done. He has to let himself feel. He has to let himself heal.

I’ve seen what grief rage does to a person, I’m watching it happen with a friend, who’s friend is caught in a grief rage spiral. And it isn’t productive. And it isn’t conducive to getting on with life and getting used to the new reality. I don’t want that to happen to Doc. So, I feel like I’m deserting him, but it is better for him ultimately, if I don’t provide myself as a punching bag. A thing this morning showed that he is too far gone to reach. I just have to keep my hand out now, until he can be reached. That’s not so much. I can do that. 20 years of knowing this man as a saint and a demon have made me intensely loyal to him. And yes, I do know, but thank you for your gentle reminders, that this isn’t him. I just have to squelch my fear that it will be him from now on, and do what I can, or can’t, to help him.

So, it’s tense. When I heard him get up, I got his coffee ready and put it on the table for him. No reaction. So I pretty much knew where he was. I was pleasant and asked him how he was doing. Grunt. Same as me in the mornings. He’s lucky, in fact, if he gets a grunt out of me, usually it’s a growl. Then I started to tell him about finding taco bell recipes, and he did this cartoon thing of exasperation that completely sets me off, and I forgot myself, and told him just to never mind. He spent the next five minutes trying to make a thing of it, getting louder and louder, and I picked up my notebook and water and went quietly and without drama to the studio for a half and hour. Sketched out a few pair of earrings and made myself a charm bracelet for my right arm. In spire of making tons of jewelry, I don’t have or wear very much. A silver medic-alert bracelet and a distraction Hill Tribes silver hand-hammered chain that matches one Kelli has. Two rings on each hand, all silver. Two bands on the left, a flat moonstone and a Mormon “CTR” ring on the right. Maybe a necklace, I have to fix the two I have. Sometimes earrings. I will actually make earrings for myself. I should make myself a new pair, since people will be looking at my head for a while.

Wow, sorry for the long paragraphs. I hope they are actually on subject. I’ve never been good at paragraph transitions when free typing. Sometimes I go back and try to break things up logically, but usually there is no effective way to do it, so I leave it. Like I will this time.

This house is full of things I can’t eat. I think I’ll make some eggy-wegg salad without the bacon. I can’t chew bacon anymore, even bacon bits. Enough molars have been missing for long enough that the reainers have shifted, leaving big gaps in between where food gets caught. And bacon gets stuck. I tried flossing, but the teeth are all broken and jagged, so the floss shreds and I end up with a mouth full of it. And the bacon still stuck in my teeth. I also can’t eat anything that might poke into my gums. Because again, enough of my gums are exposed, most with half-teeth below the surface, that anything that can hurt, does hurt. Doc asked me a few days ago if I was in pain. Yeah, for like three years now. He handed me a codeine. A few hours of relief every few days, once a week. That’s cool. I can’t ask for more.

A continuing argument we are having, that he will not just call and verify, is my insistence that full dental implants aren’t covered under our insurance plan. They are considered a cosmetic procedure, and our plan doesn’t cover any cosmetic procedures, not even bleaching. And to do it individually would cost infinitely more in medication and time. It would take about 18 months to complete. It would be much more expensive in the long run, even with partial dental coverage for some of it. Like the extractions and surgeries to clear out my mouth. Those will be covered. But I’m not letting them take the rest of my teeth until I have implants lined up as a sure thing. No way. I am not going to have one of those slack jaws that closes too far and squishes my lips together like some hillbilly. No fucking way. I would rather just not open my mouth in public and have a proper profile. My lips are already out of shape from the teeth I’m missing now. I’m shallow.  But I’ve got a crooked nose and droopy left eye, I don’t really need anything else to happen to my face. Unless we can start wearing veils.

Good. I was just starting a second cup of coffee, and I started to feel really guilty for drinking it. So I put it away. That’s what I want. I want my brain to help me so I can lose this weight in 6 and 1/2 weeks. I want to wear my “skinny” jeans and DKNY tshrt that I love so much for my birthday. I ruined the shirt that I was going to paint “Bad Wolf” on. I’ll make another Doctor Who shirt at some point. But right now, the above is my goal. Thin jeans and DKNY tshirt. And no cake. It’s usually a fight to get a cake in the first place, so I’m not even wanting one this year. I end up not eating very much of it, anyway. Maybe I’ll make myself brownies. I can’t bite into chocolate anymore, so brownies would be good. I just can’t eat the crunchy edges like I used to. Ironically, I would dip them in coffee.

Oh, I feel better. I cleaned. Took the recycling out, dishes, all the stuffs. And, since I got my new, decent, cigarette stuffer in the mail today, I made a pack of smokes. I didn’t realize how much pressure I had put on myself with the other stuffer. It hurt my wrist to use, so I couldn’t stuff more than one at a time. So every time I wanted a cigarette, I had to get down on the floor, stuff one and then put the stuff away and go out and smoke. It was really bugging me, and I didn’t even realize it was a constant source of annoyance. I didn’t know until I felt the wave of relief when I went to stuff a smoke and found a pack waiting for me. Part of the annoyance was that I didn’t have my original stuffer because Doc broke it while doing something to it that he thought I wouldn’t notice or something. I don’t know. All I know is he broke my shit and it took two months for him to replace it with the right thing, the original brand. So, anyway, I’m set for smokes.

I actually got old Bagira to play today. He brought me a particularly long pine needle, so I started playfully tickling his nose with it. It wasn’t long before he was batting at it with his paws and biting pieces off of it. I’ve never seen him play. And he didn’t want to stop. When the pine needle was gone, he played with my fingers, keeping his claws retracted. I have only ever seen him hunt and eat and sleep.

Ack, this got long again. See what happens when I have no one to talk to except Kelli?



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